


Would You Know a Good Thing?

by ithinkwehitametaphor



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Relationship(s), Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:03:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkwehitametaphor/pseuds/ithinkwehitametaphor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a Wrenchers fanfic set during the exact time that Fargo Season 1 runs (2006). The story fills in the blanks between the scenes that Mr. Wrench and Mr. Numbers appear in and concentrates on their special relationship as partners and as a couple. ;) It includes some nsfw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would You Know a Good Thing?

**Author's Note:**

> I first posted this work on my tumblr.  
> As it fills the gaps in Fargo (series) I inculded some animated gifs in my tumbler versions that ae missing here. The gifs have been replaced by short notes in square brackets. However, I think the gif version works better. So if you are curious about that, you are very welcome to visit my tumblr:  
> http://ithinkwehitametaphor.tumblr.com/post/91438328279/would-you-know-a-good-thing  
> (This is the link to part 11 of the story, you'll find the links to part 1-10 at the bottom of the post)
> 
> I left some of the original tumblr chapter titles in place but decided not to post the work in chapters here.

**Would You Know a Good Thing if It Crawled up your Ass?**

He stands in front of the mirror and trims his beard with the small golden scissors Wrench has bought him. Through the open bathroom door Numbers can hear him tap his fingers nervously on the hotel’s formica table. Clack, clack, clack. And he wonders if Wrench is unaware of the annoying noise he produces or whether he is doing it on purpose. An involuntary smile forces itself on Numbers’s face and he cuts a little uneven patch into his otherwise flawless black beard.

Numbers lets his hands sink down and the scissors clinker into the wash basin. Then he brushes the small black hairs from his scarf and decidedly forgets to rinse the sink afterwards. Wrench will curse him.

He looks at himself in the mirror, expressionless for a moment, then puts on a broad smile. His teeth are white and menacing.

 _Let’s go_ , he signs to Wrench as he steps through the bathroom door.

Wrench gets up and looks at him, _You trimmed it unevenly. Right there._ Finger pointing into Numbers’s beard.

_Yeah, yeah, yeah, save it for later. Let’s just get the little shit and get out of here. I want to go home. This fucking shit hole is getting to me…_

 Wrench’s face softens. _I know. […]_

Numbers brushes past his partner and the fringes of Wrench’s leather jacket jingle with unseen sentences.

  
He walks down the hallway deliberately; Wrench follows, arms motionless at his sides in silence. He knows he messed up big time at breakfast. _You never listen… You don’t respect me. Idiot…_

His insides cringe, what a big oaf he is. At times he feels those hands of his have a life and mean purpose of their own. It’s hard to apologize to Numbers.

Wrench steps into the elevator and they stand next to each other looking at their own reflections in the mirrored cabin. For a split-second he thinks about saying something but doesn’t. Instead he straightens himself, adjusts his leather jacket, cocks his head and his neck makes a faint creaking noise.

Numbers looks down at his feet and grins.

_\- What?_

_\- You always do that._

_-Do what?_ Fingers flying nervously.

\- _That neck thingy. When you don’t know what to say._ Numbers chuckles.

  _\- I don’t._

  _\- Yes, you do._

 The elevator doors open and Numbers steps out, brushing Wrench’s fingers ever so slightly as he passes.

 Out on the street Wrench tries to focus on the job ahead. Get the little guy who killed Sam Hess. Make him say it. Off him. Go home.  
…with Numbers.

 

The Minnesota cold bites through his leather jacket and the coat underneath. But the over coats are in the trunk of the car. The little guy will have a swim later. And this time the hole will be big enough for sure.

He can already feel the anger rising as they approach the insurance office.

[Numbers and Wrench threaten Lester at the Insurance Office]

 

**Interlude Would You Know a Good Thing if It Held You by the Hand?**

Earlier this morning:  
[Wrench and Numbers have breakfast at Lou's Diner]

 Each breakfast in this shit hole is just a continuation of the one before. All he ever wants to say is: I love you. All he gets out is a jumbled mess of accusations. _Please, notice me loving you so._

The place is bad luck. Has been since the first guy they killed was the wrong one to off.  
Numbers is right. They need to go home.

 

**Would You Know a Good Thing if It Held You in Its Grasp?**

Numbers is out on the ice. He lies still now, almost peacefully, in his minkcoat. The sky is very blue. For a second he thinks he might die here and the idea is just too hilarious. Would Wrench even notice if he drew his last breath right now? Numbers groans despite himself at the thought and tries to roll over on his side. Nah, it’s not time to die yet. The little fuck was too much of a coward to do any serious harm.  
 _Run, Spot, run.  
_ The pain is exquisite and he turns on his back again. In his head he sees pictures of himself throttling the tiny coward.  
 _How long does it take Wrench to drill the fucking hole? Forever?_

A few more painful moments later a face appears in his field of vision. It’s Wrench of course. The green eyes are boring into his, eyebrows rise and Wrench’s brow furrows. _What a pretty frown,_ he thinks.  
And Numbers tries to smile. He moves his hands slowly, signs

_\- Would you please help me up? Or at least shove me through the fucking hole you dug?_

Wrench merely blinks.

_\- Come on, help me UP._

Hands extend and strong arms pull him up close. A white pain screams through his head and Wrench steadies him. But Numbers pointedly moves a step away as soon as he feels his legs will support him.

_\- No need to get sappy now._

Only now Wrench snaps out of his trance and his face suddenly contorts into a flood of anger.

_\- What happened? Where’s the little fuck? Where? What did you DO? What?_

_\- What did **I** do?! The idiot tasered me. What do you think I did? I did what YOU wanted me to do. Press a fucking confession._

Wrench turns abruptly on his heels looking at the snow on the lake and starts to follow a trail of tiny feet fleeing. He stomps off in long strides, his fists are clenched tightly.

“Oh great, yeah. Just run off.” Numbers mutters under his breath and tries to follow. He’s still wobbly on his feet and his head swims.

But the track is obvious and it leads back through the leafless trees to the street.

[Wrench and Numbers lurk in the trees while Lester is apprehened by the police.]

~~~

While Wrench is driving with sullen purpose, Numbers still nurses his pain. This day is going wrong on so many levels, he can’t even begin to fathom it. And now the little dipshit in the orange jacket has been arrested by the local police. Thinks he is safe. But he won’t be for long.

Numbers sighs, a tremendous weariness has taken hold of him. All he really wants to do is go back to the hotel and lie on the bed. Maybe close his eyes for a few moments and be at peace. Instead, they’ll have to come up with something. He’s angry at himself for underestimating the cunning of this coward. And he still has to tell Wrench that someone else killed Sam Hess. He was wrong and Wrench was right. But he’s going to squeeze the truth out of Lester Nygaard, no matter what and make it up so they can leave this freezing hell.

His limbs feel stiff when he gets out of the car. Wrench gives him a look between worry and accusation, his brow going through a whole repertoire of frowns. Meanwhile, Numbers tries to shrug out of his coat but his arms feel clumsy and he can’t get out of the sleeves.

 _\- Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck._ He swears softly through his teeth.

Finally, Wrench steps around the car and helps him out of the coat, folds it neatly and puts it in the trunk.

In the elevator Numbers just gives up. He grabs Wrench’s hand, squeezes it; but closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the look on his face.  
Wrench doesn’t object, he seldom does. He knows this is the way Numbers says _I love you_. It amuses him that somebody as bristling and brittle as Numbers still feels the need inside. And it excites him to know that he’s the one occupying that soft spot in someone so complicated. It’s never easy but always worth it.

Numbers kicks off his shoes and gets rid of the second coat.

_\- You want to lie down?_

A glare. _What if I do?_

He goes on to drop his trousers and get rid of his shirt. Then lies down spread-eagled on the bed covers and groans.

Wrench watches him closely and tries to fathom if lying down, too, would be safe or not. Probably safe. So he hangs his leather jacket over the chair and flops down next to Numbers.

Numbers longs to ignore Wrench but it’s really hard. He can hear him breathe and the faint musty smell of his hair is in his nose. The mere proximity is enough to rob him of his peace. And Numbers wonders when he got this soft but can’t remember. All he knows is that Fargo paired him with this deaf guy from Texas one day because he was the only one who knew ASL even a tiny little bit. And they all said, that deaf guy, he’s darn good at what he does. So. Next thing he knows, Wrench has him pressed up against a wall in some dingy motel room and he’s so into it.

“Lester Nygaard didn’t kill Sam Hess,” he says to himself. Sometimes he tests the words by saying them out loud before signing them.

Was it his own idea to undress before lying down? If so, it was a bad one. Never drop your pants with Wrench in the same room. Too dangerous, really.  
A snore invades his thoughts. So Wrench fell asleep. Great. Come on honey, don’t DO that to me.  
He gives him a rough elbow check and then sits up, expectantly facing him.

Wrench wakes up with a start, _What? What is it? Are you ok?_

 _\- You fell asleep._  
\- Uh-hu. So?  
\- I want you to be awake.  
\- O-Kay…what for…?  
\- Lester Nygaard did not kill Sam Hess.

Numbers doesn’t like it when Wrench’s hands lie in his lap that still.

 _\- You were right and I was wrong. There! I admitted it._  
 _\- Yeah. …WTF?_  
 _\- Can we_ **please** _come to the part where you suck my dick now?_

Wrench coughs and almost chokes on his own tongue.

  
 _\- This is not how things work, you know._

_\- Oh yeah? How then_ ** _does_** _it work? You tell me ‘cause I don’t know anymore. I sure don’t_ , Numbers is fidgeting nervously with his hands. Runs them through his black hair.

_\- All that trudging through the snow moping back there was just because you knew I was right!?!_

_\- Oh come on. He TASERED me._

_\- Who did it then?_ _  
 _\- Did what?_  
 _\- Who killed Sam Hess?__ Wrench rolls his eyes.

_\- I don’t know. I was just about to squeeze it out of the little rat when he blew my fuses and ran._

For a few moments they both remain still and look at each other.

 _\- Can I at least kiss you?_ Numbers flashes his teeth at Wrench.

_\- I don’t know why I put up with you._  
 _\- Because – I’m cute as shit._  
 _\- You’re an idiot – is what you are!_  
 _\- Yeah, yeah, yeah._

Suddenly, Numbers leans forward, grabs Wrench’s face in his hands and kisses him. The taste of his mouth is intoxicating.  
But Wrench pushes him away.

 

**Would You Know a Good Fight?**

Numbers feels his guts clench. This is a bad thing. Wrench never refuses him. Almost never.

 _\- I told you, no. This is just too fucked up._ Wrench throws his hands up in the air. Gets up from the bed, signs emphatically.

Numbers looks like a beaten dog that doesn’t know what it did wrong. And maybe he’s really clueless.

\- _Look, I’m sorry…_

\- _You’re ALWAYS so sorry. But you just keep pushing it. Am I a joke to you?_

\- _Didn’t you start it all? This…_ Numbers makes a wide gesture with his hand. _This you and me thing. Whatever it is. You know who I am. I’m difficult. I don’t know how to be nice. It’s not what I signed up for._

\- _Are you kidding me? You’re not doing that to me, James. You’re not doing that. Take that shit back._ _You’re pathetic… You don’t know. THAT is such bullshit. It’s not about you being difficult. It’s about SHARING. You get yourself into trouble like a first timer on that lake and pout about it. Fine by me. BUT you don’t go and withhold information from me. Not AGAIN.. From me. I’m your PARTNER!_

_Next thing after confessing your fuck-up you want get me into bed with you?! And when it doesn’t work out it’s all my fault… Is that your glorious idea of how it’s supposed to be?_

The emotions on Wrench’s face run riot and Numbers finds it hard to follow his agitated signing.

He can feel the panic rising from deep down now. No, no, no. He fucked it up again. Magically fucking things up with Wrench all the time. Did he call him James? For Chrissake.

 _\- Look…_ he starts. But to no avail. Wrench signs away frantically and there’s no stopping him. His hands fly, the words are raining down on Numbers mercilessly.

\- _Sometimes, I just want to hit you in the fucking face. Wipe that smart-ass grin off. Hit you hard enough to wake from your cozy little world in which you’re the fucking center of the universe. Like…_ He clenches his fists hard, finally runs out of words.

They are both silent for a moment, facing each other.

And then Numbers signs,  
\- M _aybe you should. But make it count for something._

\- _What?!_

\- _I say, let’s have a fucking bar fight you and me. A real fight. Smash things to pieces. Smash each other against the walls. Pound the shit out of each other._

\- _Is that supposed to be funny? Or is that just some of your manhood asserting bullshit?_ A sneer.

\- _No, I mean it, let’s fight. Let’s get_ ** _arrested_** _by Bemidji police…_ he bares his teeth.

Wrench’s brows rise, a question forming. - _Like Lester Nygaard. You mean?_

\- _Like Lester fucking Nygaard, coward extraordinaire._

Heavens, Wrench even gets him when he’s mad with rage. That is so unbelievably attractive. Numbers grins widely.

\- _Prepare to be roughed up._ Wrench signs back.

\- _Deal?_

_\- Deal._

 

[Wrench and Numbers have a bar fight in order to get arrested.]

~~~

They sit in the back of the police car side by side, hands cuffed. Wrench wonders if he has hit Numbers too hard, hurt him too much. His shoulders ache, he crashed into that glass door pretty badly.  
But at least the anger seems to be gone. Instead, he’s ashamed of himself now. Numbers just manages to push him to the edge, makes him act like a freak lately.  
All the things he said at breakfast, at the hotel and now this. Grabbing each other by the collar, pounding the shit out of Numbers. How is this supposed to work?  
He had a few boyfriends before but it is different now. Usually, he’s easily pacified but… not when he feels betrayed like this. With the eccentricities he can deal but to do that he needs trust. Loyalty.

For a while he’s lost in thought. But then he feels Numbers shift and squirm a little next to him. Under his breath Numbers is murmuring things, probably thinking Wrench won’t understand. But Wrench knows enough to get the gist. He knows every damn movement of these lips by heart.  
“I love you, man. Don’t you see that. Hell, no. Can’t say that. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Let’s just get the job done and go home…”  
Wrench softly nudges him in the side and Numbers flinches, caught off guard.

“You were watching, weren’t you…”

But Wrench just shrugs, unable to use his hands.

“I want it to be good with you.” Numbers mouths and Wrench nods.

 

They walk towards the police station and Wrench squares his shoulders, sneers. His boots creak in the snow as he crushes it under his foot. To pull this off, they need to be in professional mode. It’s about time to get this done. Fuck Lester Nygaard.  
Numbers, who walks in front, looks back at him, squints and then nods slowly.  
The glass doors of the one-story building slide open and the fat little police officer herds them towards a counter to get them through the welcome procedure. It’s the same guy who arrested Nygaard, Wrench is sure.

First it’s Numbers’s turn. Name, identification… all fake anyway. Then the blonde police lady behind the counter turns to Wrench and asks for his name.

In reply he rolls his eyes and rattles the cuffs. This is really annoying.

She gives him a puzzled look. “Your name please, Sir.”

Wrench sighs deeply and turns to Numbers for help.

“He’s deaf.” Numbers hisses and leans forward menacingly.

“Oh, I’m SO sorry about that.” the officer says. She is probably trying to be nice.

For a split second it looks like Numbers is going to jump over the counter top to grab her and smash her head in.  
Seeing how Numbers bares his canine teeth, Wrench has to subdue a grin. He knows that look. The last time someone said they were sorry to hear he’s deaf, they ended up with three broken ribs, lost front teeth and a piece of pulp for a nose. Who would have guessed that his partner was so protective back then.

But right now Numbers simply forces a benevolent smile and cocks his head.

“Yes, we all are. So very sorry. Now, why don’t you take off these cuffs and I’ll translate. We go back some time, you see. Just a little alcohol induced misunderstanding.”

The lady nods, baffled, and looks at Wrench who shows his cuffs. He’s not sure what exactly Numbers told her, couldn’t see his lips properly, but he’ll handle it. Trust.

“Well, Knudsen. Uh, I think you’d better. If the fella’s deaf. I think it’s the law. Right to a translator. There something like that?”

In reply he rustles some keys and finally takes off their cuffs. Numbers stretches his wrists pointedly, turns to Wrench and signs something.

_\- I told them I’ll translate. Fucking pricks._

In turn Wrench looks at the officer behind the counter and smiles re-assuredly. _Steady now._

“Well then…Uh, I think it’s okay if you translate.” the woman says.

So Numbers rattles off Wrench’s fake information; asking him a few random things now and then while she notes it all down.

“Hm yah… thank you so much. That’s all then.” she smiles sheepishly at them.

“Uh, would you mind if I make a phone call right now?” Numbers interjects. He sounds all business now, “To get us out of this predicament as soon as possible, you see,” he leans forward confidentially. “This is really embarrassing.”

“Oh. Is that… Can we do that right now?” she looks over Numbers’s shoulder at her colleague.

The guy fidgets with his hands, “Huh? Yah. No. I don’t.. Aw heck, I think we can do that. ”

“We really appreciate this.” Numbers offers.

Wrench has to subdue a grin, the insincerity on his partner’s face is so palpable. Yet nobody but him seems to notice.

Then the police officer shows them to a phone booth in a corner of the entrance area.

“You can use this.” he points to the phone. “Erm, what about your… friend?” he adds.

“Oh, he’s not into phones that much. I’ll cover for the both of us. Don’t worry.”

Wrench chuckles.

“Right then. Just go ahead, I think. But don’t tell the guys I let you do that. Uh.”

 _\- I’ll call Fargo, tell them to wire the bail money in what – about 20 minutes?_ he signs.  
Wrench wags his head, calculating time. _\- Yeah. Alright._ _  
_Numbers places the call in a calm and low voice. He doesn’t sound like someone who’s calling their lawyer at all. But nobody takes note of that either.

He hangs up and nods to Wrench.

_\- It’s done. We have half an hour at best. I’ll get the little shithead to talk, you go and look scary._

_\- You better…_

Numbers turns to the officer, “My lawyer will wire bail money ASAP”

“Ah- okay. Right. Well, let’s go then boys… Frank here will show you where to wait. Frank!”

Another guy arrives looks at them briefly and leads the way down the hallway to the cells. They follow.  
Wrench sniffs and takes in a sour smell, old linoleum mixed with sweat of fear and alcohol withdrawal. It’s literally the same mix everywhere, even in this small shit-hole of a town.

And there he is.

[Wrench and Numbers force Malov's name out of Lester Nygaard. Then they are released from jail as bail has been paid by Fargo presumably.]

 ~~~

 _\- What now?_ Wrench signs as he gets into the car. _Never heard of Lorne Malvo before. Some other state Syndicate maybe?  
\- I dunno, possible. I’ll call the Australian. See if Fargo can send us something useful. Get those pictures from the APB._

Numbers fastens his seatbelt and puts on his glasses although it’s already pitch black outside.  
 _\- Lets go back to the hotel. I’m fucking tired_.

Wrench just nods and starts the car.

While they drive his hands are glued to the steering wheel. Because- reasons… Wrench has a mind to break his self-imposed no-signing in the car rule today but then decides not to. He’s pleased with how it came out with Nygaard in the end but not really pleased how it’s going with Numbers. So better shut up.

Wrench parks the car in front of the hotel. On the street is a pay phone, so Numbers suggest to make the call right now. Let Wrench watch if he likes. He is too tired to fight anyway and wants to get this done. Maybe there will be useful information available in the morning. Maybe they’ll just get this Malvo guy and go home.

He punches in the numbers, asks for the Australian. “It’s important.” “Yeah. Right NOW.” As he is put on hold, Numbers absent-mindedly plays with the phone’s extension cord. _Come on now.  
_ Wrench stands, one hand placed on his hip, slowly tapping one foot until Numbers gives him a glare.

“It’s Numbers.”  
——  
“I need information. ASAP.”  
——  
“Yeah, I’m in Bemidji with Wrench. Still.”  
——  
“What? No. And don’t mate me, idiot or I’ll fuck YOU up the ass.” He grinds his teeth.  
——  
“Whatever… Name is Malvo. First name probably Lorne. L-O-R-… Yah, like the fucking Bonanza fella.”

Numbers looks like he’s either going to smash the receiver or just hang up any minute now.  
——  
“There’s supposed to be an APB out with a picture at the local police. See if we can get that. Call us when you have it handy. If you can, get it today.  
——  
“Just phone room no. 301. I’ll be there to take it.”  
——  
“Oh please… You know what, go, die in a ditch, mate…”

 With that Numbers just lets go of the receiver and walks away silently. _How exhausting_.

Wrench folllows in his trail with wide steps, smirking. He has some ideas as to what upset Numbers. The Australian is a blabbering idiot but he has an eye for details.

 

In the elevator Wrench is still silent.

 _\- Hey man,_ Numbers nudges him in the side, _you hungry?_  
In reply Wrench shrugs, then nods tentatively.  
 _\- I’ll call room service. See if we can still get something delivered._

They stand in the hallway and Numbers takes the key card out of his coat pocket, opens the door to their room. He ambles over to the desk next to the bed, sits down and takes up the phone.

“Hello, yeah. I wanted to know if it is still possible to get some food sent up…”

Meanwhile Wrench is busy kicking off his boots. He takes off his socks and tosses them on the bed carelessly.

“Hey!!” Numbers shouts. “No, not you. Just a sec please…” He puts the receiver down and waves at Wrench to get his attention.  
 _\- Would you PLEASE remove these filthy things from the BED?! One of them has been in his MOUTH. For godssake!_

Wrench stares daggers at Numbers. And with a brush of the hand he wipes the socks from the bed down to the floor.

 _\- Fuck you.  
\- Thank you._ Numbers turns his back on Wrench and orders the food.

 When he hangs up, Wrench is sitting on the bed zapping though the muted TV channels. He looks really pissed. Uh-oh.

 _\- Could you please switch on the sound?_  
\- Why should I? You have problems lip-reading or do the captions irritate you?  
\- Right. “Why SHOULD you.” Numbers hesitates for a moment then storms off into the bath room slamming the door. What a waste, Wrench won’t even hear it.

He leans on the wash basin trying to breathe. _How is it possible that he can’t even pull himself together for 10 minutes straight today. How?_ Then he looks up at his face in the mirror, pale and somewhat drawn. Fine lines show at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead. He’s this aging 40-something bag of eccentricities and out there on the other side of the door sits his boyfriend who’s like 10 years younger. And instead of rutting him like there’s no tomorrow, he’s hiding himself in the bathroom. _How did that happen, really?_

After a while there’s a knock on the door. Numbers closes his eyes. If he doesn’t open the door, Wrench will eventually come in. He knows this. It’s a certainty. It’s also a gift.

Then he can hear the door handle move and naked feet padding on the tiled floor. A hand touches his shoulder, makes him turn around and open his eyes again.

 _\- Fargo is on the phone. I, guess._ Wrench looks worried. - _Are you alright?_

He nods, brushes Wrench’s hand away softly and takes the call at the desk.

“Yes.”  
——  
“When and where?”  
——  
“Okay. We’ll be there. Oh, and listen. You say that thing about Wrench again to my face. I rip you open from top to bottom, wind your intestines around your throat and choke you to death. Just, you know. As a heads up. It’s a promise.”

Numbers hangs up.

_\- I hate phones. They defer punishment too far in the future. Eventually, the anger grows stale and revenge loses it’s touch. A wearying means of communication. No, I don’t like it._

Wrench merely raises an eyebrow.

  _\- They already got hold of the APB pictures. We’ll meet a guy in Grub Street in 15 minutes._

  _\- Better put the food on hold then._

 [Wrench and Numbers go and get the APB on Malvo.]

~~~

They sit on the bed shovelling lukewarm Thai food in their mouths while the TV blares. Wrench has no idea how Numbers can stand that stupid show and he isn’t even trying to understand what’s happening. Without subs it’s futile anyway because lip-reading a bunch of puppets is not a special skill he possesses. Or wants.

The first time Numbers sat down to watch, Wrench asked him why he was wasting time with an ancient TV show that was made for children. Numbers didn’t talk to him for 15 minutes full. Then he dove into a scientific discussion of why this was NEVER made for children at all and how it was a classic and Wrench better let him watch it if he wanted him to translate anything the next day. He, Numbers, needed to watch this for his peace of mind.

After he has finished his meal Wrench puts the empty plastic container on the night stand and looks at the file with the picture in it again. The security camera photo is grainy but the guy is pretty recognizable. It should be sufficient to identify him.  
He’s sure he has never seen the man before. In the picture Malvo is dragging something behind him like a sack of meat. Some office worker who was apparently found frozen stiff near the roadside somewhere around here a few days ago.  
Wrench read that in the paper and showed it to Numbers who immediately began bristeling about what a sloppy job that was if it was a hit.

Finally, he gets up, puts the file on the desk and throws the empty food container into the trash can next to it. Numbers is still watching his TV show. Wrench looks at him closely, how he laughs at words he can’t even hear and wouldn’t find funny if he did. For a second he forgets that he’s mad and just stares in amazement.

But then the credits start to roll and Numbers finally catches his stare. He can’t stand to be watched too closely. Yet what can Wrench do? That’s what he needs to get information. Watch. Stare. See things on other people’s faces.

 _\- What?  
\- Nothing. I’m just looking at you… No offense meant._ Wrench offers the upturned palms of his hands.

Numbers blinks once, twice - takes the remote and switches off the TV.  
 _\- I think I need some sleep. Seriously man. I’m a mess._

Then he gets up and shuts himself into the bathroom.

Numbers always goes in first. Comes out with brushed teeth in his boxer shorts. That is the rule since they started to share a room on purpose. Fargo is still paying for two.  
While Numbers is in there, Wrench sits on the bed with idle hands and waits. That’s what he does, it’s his part in this play. Sometimes he thinks of nothing in particular. Sometimes all he can think of is Numbers’s bare ass. Today he’s just raw inside and tired.

When his own turn at the sink is over and he comes out of the bathroom, Numbers is already in bed. Tucked in under the covers Wrench only gets to see his back. The overhead light has already been switched off, only the lamp on Wrench’s night stand is still giving off a dim light.  
The setting says: Do not disturb. He sees that.

Wrench gets into bed and turns off the light. He lies on his back and cannot sleep, rolls over on his side facing away from Numbers but sleep won’t come. Back to back they try to ignore each other. After some time he tries breathing exercises. Calm down the frequency, count each single breath up to ten, then down again to one. And over again. One – two – three –

On his side of the bed Numbers is wide awake suddenly. He feels so fucking tired but can’t drift off. _How is that possible?_ He wants to forget everything about this day but instead he has to repeat the scenes over and over in his head. Distorted memories that spin out of proportion and aggravate him.  
Wrench seems to be breathing deeper now. Maybe he fell asleep, the lucky bastard.  
It can’t be helped. He can’t sleep like this. It is impossible.  
After what seems like an eternity in the darkness he sits up in bed and stares at the ceiling, there is nothing but blackness.

Wrench is not asleep. He feels Numbers toss and move on the other side of the mattress. _What’s he doing there? Oh fuck it._ He switches on the lamp on the night stand and turns over.

_\- What’s wrong? Are you ok?_

\- _Nothing’s ok. One day you’ll just be gone._ Numbers signs. Out of the blue.

 _\- What?_ Wrench’s brows furrow.

 _\- One day you’ll just pack up, hit me in the face one last time and leave. That’s what. When you can’t take another fuck up the ass, figuratively speaking._ A shy smirk on his face.

 _\- Is that what you’re thinking?_ The scowl on Wrench’s face is suddenly gone.

_\- Yes._

_\- You think I’ll leave you alone? Go somewhere? **That** is what worries you right now?_

_\- That’s what worries me **all** the time. This morning and on the lake, in the car, even at the fucking police station. I drive people away. And for the first time it really worries me. Yes. It’s highly uncomfortable._

For a long moment Wrench doesn’t know what to say. His mind is a blank. Time extends infinitely.

Numbers has put his arms around his knees by now and just sits there.

Finally, Wrench scoots over to Numbers, puts his hands on his partner’s naked back, hugs him. Then he sits back again, looks him in the eyes:  
 _\- I am not going anywhere. Not. Ever. O.K.?_

Numbers nods feebly.

With a sudden jerk Wrench grabs Numbers’s arm and pulls him over to his side of the bed. He slides down from the sitting position he is in and lies on his back; Numbers now hovering over him. Wrench kisses him hard, bites his lip while Number’s knee is grinding between Wrench’s open thighs.  
They roll around between the sheets, struggling frantically over who’s going to be on top, kissing, touching each other until Wrench gains the upper hand. He grins. For a few moments he just enjoys the feeling of his hard-on pushing against Numbers’s belly.  
Then Wrench slides down between his partner’s legs.

Numbers can feel the goosebumps on his skin as Wrench moves down and slowly pulls off his boxers.  He gasps as the other man finally starts to slowly suck him off. Fuck, he never wants this to stop, it’s so hot. Numbers digs his fingers into Wrench’s hair in delight, pulling on it as the other’s tongue is licking along the length of his cock. The gulping and sucking noises Wrench makes turn him on even more. He needs to come badly soon, can’t hold it back for long.

Afterwards, Wrench looks up, smirking at him. He pulls off his own shorts and moves up against Numbers’s body, straddling him and pulls his partner to a sitting position beneath himself.  
He starts grinding his boner against Numbers’s sweaty body and grunts with pleasure.

While he nibbles and bites Wrench’s neck, Numbers takes the other’s cock firmly in his hand. Wrench stiffens under the touch for the fraction of a second and moans.  
Numbers slowly starts to move his hand up and down while Wrench squirms and shudders. The movements get faster and Wrench’s breath is raspy and rough until he finally comes over Number’s naked belly.

They both collapse on the bed, holding each other for a while and soon Numbers is sound asleep in Wrench’s arms.  
Numbers has never admitted being frightened of anything before, Wrench thinks and drifts off to sleep himself.

 


End file.
